Chapter 320: The Night Ward

I woke with one arm beneath Evelyn and one foot outside the bed.

Adriana had acquired most of the blanket.

She denied this while still asleep.

Evelyn occupied the center.

She had arranged that deliberately.

The floor beside me was frozen.

Only a narrow strip.

I considered that an improvement.

Then someone knocked.

All three of us opened our eyes.

Nobody moved.

The knocking came again.

“Who answers?” Adriana whispered.

“It is Uriah’s room,” Evelyn said.

“It is also yours.”

“Adriana is closest to the door.”

“I am not yet dressed.”

Neither was anyone else.

The person knocked a third time.

I covered myself with the portion of blanket still available and opened the door slightly.

Perrin stood outside.

Eleanor waited behind him.

Four workers occupied the passage.

They carried pieces of a bed.

A much larger bed.

I looked back at Evelyn.

She sat upright.

Adriana pulled the blanket over her head.

“You built it already?” I asked.

Perrin appeared offended.

“You rejected the hinged model.”

“Yes.”

“So I built the other one.”

“Which other one?”

“The reinforced one.”

Eleanor looked past me at the frozen floor.

“That was the correct choice.”

We dressed in the adjoining room while the workers dismantled our old bed.

Carol and Garrick arrived before they finished.

The twins climbed onto the new frame.

Garrick jumped.

The wood gave a low sound.

Perrin listened.

“Again.”

Our son jumped again.

Eleanor folded her arms.

“You built a bed and are testing it with a two-year-old.”

“He is unusually dense.”

Garrick stopped.

I looked at Perrin.

“That could have been phrased better.”

“I meant magically.”

“That did not improve it.”

Carol lay in the center of the bare frame.

“Mine.”

Evelyn entered behind her.

“No.”

Our daughter considered appealing to Adriana.

Adriana shook her head.

Carol sighed.

Every authority in her life had failed.

The finished bed had no hinges.

No hidden compartments.

No experimental joints.

Eleanor had insisted.

It did have reinforced legs, a wider mattress, and enough space that my sleeping winter would be less likely to reach anyone else.

Perrin showed us the carved headboard.

Three interlocking branches.

Two smaller leaves beneath them.

“The twins,” Adriana said.

Perrin nodded.

Evelyn touched the carving.

“It’s beautiful.”

Eleanor checked the nearest support.

“It is adequate.”

Perrin looked more pleased by her answer.

Breakfast brought the first report from the restored courtyard.

The six doors remained closed.

The singing continued behind the first.

Not constantly.

Every hour, the night nurses sang the same eight lines.

Elianor had written them down.

Nobody recognized the language.

Maelin recognized the memory within it.

“They sang to remain awake,” she said.

“Why?” Soren asked.

“The room had no morning.”

Elara’s reflection appeared beneath the silver-barked tree when the song began.

She could enter the courtyard for several minutes at a time now.

Not bodily.

Enough to speak.

“The night ward was separated first,” she told us. “The court needed healers who would continue working without noticing how much time had passed.”

Anwen closed her eyes.

“They removed dawn.”

“Yes.”

The door could not be opened from our side.

Edris confirmed that.

The threshold remembered only entry into the night ward.

Not exit.

Nathaniel found seven possible crossings behind it.

All returned to the same room.

“The ward was designed to loop,” he said.

“So the nurses could not leave?” Evelyn asked.

“So they would believe they had not finished their work.”

Elara touched the door.

“It contained twelve healers when the court separated it.”

“Are they alive?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

The singing began again.

Twelve voices.

Faint.

Steady.

Evelyn looked at the door.

“They are.”

We met in the restored courtyard after breakfast.

The twins remained with Helena, Garrick Valewood, and Rysa.

They objected.

Adriana reminded them of her promise.

Inspection had been allowed.

Opening doors had not.

Garrick attempted to renegotiate.

He offered the wooden duck.

Adriana refused the bribe.

Perrin accepted it temporarily for repairs.

This ended the negotiation for unrelated reasons.

The first door bore no handle.

Only a small recess shaped like a lamp.

Sella examined it.

Her domain concerned lamps for those on the road.

“This is not mine.”

Dorian stood beside her.

Light gathered around his fingers.

“Nor mine.”

Nara placed one hand near the recess.

“It is not a hearth lamp.”

Elianor knew the answer.

“A night lamp. The House of Sealed Mercy kept one in every ward. The last healer leaving extinguished it.”

“But nobody left,” Evelyn said.

“No.”

“Then the lamp may still be inside.”

Elianor nodded.

“The door expects someone to carry it out.”

“We need to reach inside before opening it,” Nathaniel said.

“That sounds like opening it,” I replied.

“No.”

“What is the difference?”

“A crossing may permit contact without permitting passage.”

“That sounds like a smaller opening.”

Nathaniel looked at Edris.

Edris considered.

“He is imprecise, but not incorrect.”

Nathaniel looked betrayed.

I appreciated Edris more each day.

Maelin listened to the song.

Memory moved through the notes.

Not the singers’ names.

Their routine.

Walk the beds.

Check the lamps.

Count breaths.

Change cloths.

Sing eight lines.

Begin again.

The room had repeated the same hour for longer than anyone could measure.

Maelin’s face tightened.

“If we interrupt the song, the ward may notice time.”

“Would that harm them?” Ilyen asked.

“It may return every missed year at once.”

Elara looked toward the silver tree.

“That is what Othellos expects us to fear.”

“Should we?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I preferred her answers when they were less honest.

Evelyn examined the door.

“What happened to patients in the ward?”

“They were moved first,” Elara said.

“Where?”

“Some into the Quiet Room. Others into the court’s burden channels.”

“Then the nurses are treating empty beds.”

“Yes.”

My wife’s expression changed.

Not anger alone.

Grief for care continued after its purpose had been stolen.

“What will happen if they learn no patients remain?”

“One may finally extinguish the lamp.”

“And if none can?”

“Then someone must enter and relieve them.”

Ilyen stepped forward.

“No.”

Everyone looked at her.

She faced Evelyn.

“You cannot be the one.”

“I had not volunteered.”

“You were about to.”

Evelyn did not deny it.

Ilyen touched the gold around her eyes.

“The ward was designed for a healer who cannot stop while someone might still need them.”

Soren looked toward the door.

“That describes most healers.”

“It described me.”

The admission cost her less than it once would have.

Ilyen breathed.

“It may still.”

Evelyn took her hand.

“Then neither of us enters alone.”

Adriana stood beside them.

She carried no healing domain.

No saintly change.

No divine power beyond what Havenreach’s concentration had placed in every resident.

“What does the night ward do to someone who is not a healer?” she asked.

Elara looked at her.

“It asks them to leave.”

“Can I refuse?”

“Yes.”

“Can I tell the nurses their work is finished?”

“They may not believe you.”

“They know me?”

“No.”

“Then I have no role they expect me to obey.”

Evelyn turned toward her.

“No.”

Adriana raised an eyebrow.

“You objected when I said that.”

“That was different.”

“It usually is.”

I understood Adriana’s reasoning.

That did not mean I liked it.

“You may enter a loop with no exit,” I said.

“So may Evelyn.”

“That does not improve the plan.”

“No. It makes my contribution relevant.”

She looked at the two healers.

“The ward expects them to work. It expects me to leave. It does not expect me to remain and insist that rest is permitted.”

Elara studied her.

“The old garden was protected by attendants who were not healers.”

“Why?”

“Because healers could always find one more task.”

Evelyn looked at Adriana.

The objection left her slowly.

Not fear.

Fear remained.

Trust stood beside it.

The plan required four people.

Evelyn.

Ilyen.

Adriana.

Maelin.

Maelin would hold the memory of morning without forcing years upon the nurses.

Evelyn would assess their bodies.

Ilyen would hear their needs without answering every one.

Adriana would carry no role the ward could control.

Nathaniel would reach through the door.

Edris would preserve the boundary.

Sella and Dorian would prepare a new lamp.

Nereth would bring rainwater from the open courtyard.

Halwen would ensure it entered clean.

I would hold the hour still if the loop began collapsing.

Not stop time.

Winter could preserve a moment.

It could not own it.

I disliked the plan.

Eliza asked for a better one.

I did not possess it.

That ended the discussion.

Before Adriana entered, Queen Mirelle adjusted the collar of her coat.

“You are not a healer.”

“I know.”

“You are not invulnerable.”

“I know.”

“You are recently engaged.”

Adriana smiled slightly.

“I had noticed.”

Mirelle looked toward Evelyn.

“Bring each other back.”

Evelyn took one of Adriana’s hands.

Ilyen took the other.

“We will.”

Caldris felt the promise.

It remained limited enough to be honest.

Nathaniel opened a contact no wider than the recess in the door.

Darkness appeared inside it.

Not absence of light.

A room in which light had grown tired.

Sella placed the prepared lamp near the opening.

It held no flame yet.

Dorian gave it a small steady glow.

Nereth added one drop of rain.

Halwen touched it.

“Clean.”

Maelin placed both hands against the door.

The song continued.

Eight lines.

Then began again.

“Now,” she said.

Adriana lifted the lamp through the recess.

The door remembered having a handle.

It appeared beneath her fingers.

She turned it.

The night ward opened.

Twelve beds lined each wall.

All empty.

Blue lamps burned above them.

Twelve healers walked the same circuit.

Some young.

Some old.

All exhausted beyond anything the body should survive.

Their feet moved without sound.

Their hands checked blankets covering no one.

At the far end, a tall woman sang the first line.

The others joined.

No windows.

No clocks.

No dawn.

Evelyn entered.

The nearest nurse looked at her.

“You are late.”

“For what?”

“The western beds.”

“They are empty.”

The nurse looked down.

A patient appeared beneath the blanket.

Only because the ward believed one should be there.

Ilyen crossed next.

The false patient cried out.

She stopped.

Every part of the loop waited for her to answer.

Gold filled her eyes.

She listened.

Then shook her head.

“That pain has no person.”

The patient vanished.

Three more cries rose from other beds.

Ilyen did not turn.

“No person,” she repeated.

The room trembled.

Adriana entered carrying the new lamp.

The nearest blue flame turned toward it.

“You are not assigned here,” the tall nurse said.

“No.”

“Visitors must leave.”

“No.”

“Only healers may remain in the night ward.”

“Then I will remain without your permission.”

The ward had no answer prepared.